Not Nearly Enough
by Eoslin
Summary: Not everyone loves Boromir...


Not Nearly Enough

PG-13 just to be safe. A/U movieverse just to be safe. General disclaimer just to be safe, (Don't own 'em, wouldn't share 'em. I'm just mean that way) OFC. For those of you who would flame…remember that's how Denethor tried to take poor Faramir out. So, unless you want to be mistaken for Denethor and clocked by a pissed off wizard with a big stick…

A/N I suppose this could be movieverse as it happens before the Ringwar. It could probably be bookverse too, except I will always picture Sean Bean as Boromir and David Wenham as Faramir Sorry but Elijah's big baby blues got nothing on David's. One acknowledgement I'd like to make is the name generator I used. I've never been very good at making up names. So a major shout out and thank you goes to The Barrow-Downs Multi Name Generator. Using it was a blast. My name is Drunken Bird Tamer or Bulegristiel. My fiancé is Courageous Ringwraith or Rudhfenion. I have no idea how accurate they are, but they are a hoot! J

On to the story…

Chapter 1-Homecoming

Nilme glared after the two culprits as they cantered down the muddy thoroughfare, completely unaware of the havoc they, or more specifically their horses hooves, had wreaked. Stamping a tiny foot in frustration she tried to brush the mud from her new dress. She had saved her meager allowance for months. Most of the family's money was tied up in providing the accoutrements necessary to marry off the two daughters of a noble but impoverished house, the two daughters that were most likely to make a good match. That was not to say the older, uglier daughter had not been given her chance, but realistically what rich, handsome nobleman would wish to marry a…a…well her.

So she chaperoned her sisters as they made the rounds. Both were stunning, the very picture of femininity. For Alimira, the heir of Lossanarch was a lock. She had danced seven out of nine dances with him at the feast last night; a more obvious declaration of his intentions could not be made. The youngest, Alesora had no lack of suitors either. Her name had even been linked with the Steward's younger son.

For some, such good fortune might engender sisterly jealousy, but in truth Nilme was slightly in awe of her gorgeous younger sisters and somewhat proud that she could claim them as her own.

Sighing, she admitted to herself she did and did not look forward to the day when her sisters were safely in the care of their future husbands. She looked forward to not having to keep two very wily eighteen and seventeen year old's reputations intact. She also looked forward to spoiling a gaggle of nieces and nephews. She did not look forward to the end of the social whirl of dances and feasts because it meant the end of freedom for her. As befitting the spinster daughter of a noble house she would be given to the Valar and spend the rest of her days in service. She supposed she ought to be grateful. Her parents had barely had enough to pay the fees required. If they hadn't…well it didn't bear thinking about really.

Pushing it all into the back of her mind, she stared up at the sky, judging the position of the sun, wondering if she had enough time to run up to their fifth circle home and change. Aralkarion's unit was due in from Osgiliath today and she wanted to make him proud. They had won a major battle; thought the bridge had been destroyed. Her cheeks warmed at the thought of the handsome, dashing lieutenant who had pledged himself to her. Well, dashing was a strong word; and handsome was really a very subjective term. But he was kind and cared for her deeply. Besides it wasn't as if any of it mattered, she was destined for Service. And even if she hadn't been, he was the third son of a lesser House of Dol Amroth. Her parents would never approve of the match. There was no future for them, only the moment. Only whispered promises in the night that were broken with the dawn. She twisted the ring on her index finger. His ring.

She was drawn back to the present by the silver trumpets sounding the return of the Steward's son. Oh well, there was no time to change now. She quickly bent over and tried again to brush away the mud. It was hopeless. In several places it had soaked into the delicate multi-hued silken threads, staining them a uniform brown. She drew her cloak tightly about her, hoping it covered a majority of the stains.

Scanning the crowd she spotted Lord Boromir. Behind him, on dappled Rhorric steeds were Captains Tancir and Halfhiriel. Aralkarion was the adjutant to Halfhiriel and as such rode at his side. Only Nilme did not see Aralkarion's chestnut mare. Imir rode at Halfhiriel's side.

She felt the world blur at the edges. Her mind skittered and danced around the possibilities. Perhaps he was with the wounded, toward the middle of the column. Yes of course! He was not the most graceful of men. Most like he had tripped on a rock while standing in line waiting for supper and injured his ankle and so could not ride and so was not able to ride by his captain's side. Yes of course that was what happened and she would be sure to scold him for his clumsiness. She stood and waited as the column passed.

She watched as the wagon carrying those unable to walk rolled by. Surely he would call out to her as he passed. In the silence Nilme's mind spun more fanciful tales and the edges of her world blurred further. At the very end of the column came the wagons carrying the dead. Nilme did not stay to watch them pass. Why should she? Aralkarion was not among the dead. Most like he had been left behind in Osgiliath to man the garrison. It would not be the first time his tour had been unexpectedly extended. No doubt a letter would arrive with the next dispatch.

With shaking hands, Nilme drew her cloak tighter about her and climbed up to the fifth circle. She was passing the Halls of Mourning when she heard Tancir's basso profundo begin to read the Litany of the Dead.

"Captain Ithilion of Dol Amroth…"

She tried to hurry past, but her feet were cased in lead. Her mind cried out to her body, ordering it, begging it to move. She stood, her body shaking, her already pale face shining wetly with cold sweat.

"…Lieutenant Vardacamion of Lossanarch…"

A soft groan caught Boromir's attention. He looked for its source but there were too many people.

"…Lieutenant Belthelarda of Gondor…" So many good commanders cut down. Boromir sighed. This was victory? Then gods grant them they would never suffer a defeat. There, he heard it again, the soft cry of a mortally wounded animal. Boromir's keen eyes searched for the source of the sound and settled on a small woman on the edge of the crowd. From her mousy brown hair to her well worn cloak, her appearance was unremarkable. Still, he was positive he knew her. Of course! She was Lord Mycae's daughter…Nimwa…Ninas…Nilme! The ugly one. Boromir chastised himself for the uncharitable thought. In truth she was not ugly. She was pretty in a common kind of way. Still one could not help but compare her unfavorably to her stunning sisters. Her coming out had been unremarkable and she herself overshadowed by that year's crop of beauties. Boromir made it a point to be away on duty during those times, lest his father force him to choose. To him one was very like another and no doubt when the time truly came he would pick the six lovelist and roll a die, but until then. Boromir's eyes narrowed as he took in her appearance. She seemed ill. Why was she here? Why did she look so stricken? She had no brother and women dedicated to Service, as she no doubt was, were not permitted to know mortal love.

Boromir marshaled his wayward thoughts. He meant no disrespect to the dead. Still with each name Tancir solemnly intoned, Boromir felt the millstone about his neck grow heavier and heavier. How many times had he admonished his little brother not to carry the weight of the dead? Letting the riddle that was Nilme chase its tail in the recesses of his mind, Boromir returned his attention to the Litany.

"…Lieutenant Aralkarion of Dol Amroth…"

This time a strangled cry caught the attention of all in attendance. Boromir watched astonished as Nilme swayed on her feet. He managed to reach her just as her eyes rolled back into her head and she collapsed into his arms.


End file.
